


crystal green moonlit smile

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Proposal Fusion, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lack of Communication, Latino Kent, M/M, Mating Bond, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Character, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Partners to Lovers, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, idiots to lovers, implied suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21729337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: “Tell me exactly what you told them.”Jack pulls out his phone. “Meeting at work, 911 can’t get out of it. Sorry. Kenny will pick you up instead.”Kent rubs his temple. “Did they know I’m you’re assistant.”“I think so…I’ve mentioned you before?”“Have you mentioned how single you are recently?”“I—” Jack’s eyes widen. “Oh no.”“Oh yes,” Kent says frantically. “Your rich-ass, successful-ass parents think we’re fucking...fucking!”Or The Pimms Proposal AU someone definitely asked for (+ Werewolves)
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 15
Kudos: 163
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	crystal green moonlit smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfdesertedstreets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfdesertedstreets/gifts), [FaiaSakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaSakura/gifts), [rarefiednight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarefiednight/gifts).



> Some lovely friends of mine took me up on a suggested Proposal AU and won my auction for FTH 2019! Their donation went to Border Angels, which is very near and dear to my heart as a Latin@ person. Thank you so much y'all <3333 
> 
> And thank you also for listening to my rants as I destroyed the back half of this fic...and just generally changed my mind a lot (And also for sitting through my _extensive_ notes on The Proposal) 
> 
> The warnings are pretty typical of canon and/or what I normally write.  
> Sorry if you're new around here but you'll probably want to dig around my AO3 first for any Aces and/or Pimms related works if that's the case. I'm one of those chaotic evil types who builds their own canon throughout each fic.

Kent wakes up every Monday morning at exactly 3:55 AM. His alarm is set for 4 AM sharp, but it never takes into account the sound of his sister’s cat yowling for breakfast or the creaks in the floorboards as his mom shuffles through the apartment. 

For what it’s worth, it takes his brain exactly eight minutes to start functioning for the day. Eight minutes of mostly closed eyes as he blindly reaches for his glasses, changes into his bakery uniform, and grabs his luggage for later. By the time his brain is awake enough to process anything, Kent’s already washing his hands downstairs as his mom starts sanitizing their baking station. 

Humming quietly to himself, Kent maps out his entire morning. He’ll have to go to the dry cleaners before getting coffee. If he’s lucky, he’ll catch the earlier D train and have enough time to sit and drink his coffee before he heads into the office.

  
  
“Kenny, could you start cracking eggs?” his mother, Mariana, says from somewhere behind him.

  
  
“Sure, Ma,” he says. 

The next few hours are spent in a quiet, meticulous rhythm as they prepare the bakery for opening. His sister, Izzy, won’t be up until opening time at 7:30 AM. By that point Kent will be long gone for the week.

  
  
As the smell of fresh bread baking and pan dulces rising, he thinks about how busy his week will be. There’s the meeting on Wednesday with the Board of Directors and that new client to schmooze on Thursday. Tuesday’s more or less open with a few things to sign off on for the next quarter. Kent sighs, wondering when the hustle will get less strenuous.

  
  
At 7 AM he kisses his mom on the cheek and wishes her a good week.

  
  
“Don’t let them work you too hard,” she says with a sad smile.  
  
Kent shrugs casually as he reaches for the duffle bag he stashed underneath the register. “I’ll try but they always find a way.”

  
  
He spends the subway ride reading through his email. Par for the course on a Monday morning, there’s at least a dozen new queries from the weekend. He groans quietly to himself, already tossing away queries that weren’t formatted properly. Part of him hates refusing books without giving them a fair chance...but the rest of him knows from experience that it isn’t worth investing time into works that won’t get any serious consideration.

  
  
_If they can’t follow basic instructions that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We don’t have the resources to teach people how to do what they want us to pay them for,_ an obnoxious voice rings in his head.  
  


Kent rubs his temple. Being reprimanded as much as he was in his first year on the job was enough for a lifetime. Five years into working for Falcon Publishing, Kent stills doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

He’s doing his job well, evident by the fact that he’s on time to arrive early at the office and he’s already organizing his week. Beyond that? He’s swimming in a sea of constant networking and hours that make it near impossible to strategize his future. 

_It’s fine_ , he tells himself while picking up the dry cleaning at the place next to his favorite coffee shop. St. Martin’s being made partner. A job higher up is officially open for the first time in years. 

“Morning, Kent,” the barista says cheerfully. 

“Morning, Perry,” Kent says with a tired smile. “How’s the mate? How are the kids?”

  
  
Perry laughs. “I spent three hours last night chasing pups who refused to bathe.”

“So business as usual?” 

They flash a wry smile. “You could say that. Speaking of which—caramel latte and iced mocha, double shot of espresso?” 

  
Kent’s about to say yes when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. It’s 7:45 AM on Monday and he’s already done with the week. It’s too early for this bullshit and it has him on edge. 

“You better make both of those double shot,” Kent says. 

Perry nods as they fill out the order. “That bad, huh?” 

Kent grimaces. “It’s gonna be a long week.” 

“Well when your week’s over, maybe you should come over for dinner,” they say.  
  
“You know I couldn’t intrude—”  
  
They roll their eyes as they give him his drinks. “It’s no trouble. We love having you over. Just let me know the day of so Adam gets enough groceries.” 

Kent reluctantly agrees before rushing off to work. He hates taking up too much of his friends’ time but maybe he is due for a social call. 

With the sheer traffic of Monday mornings in his building it takes Kent an average of six minutes to get to the 24th floor. That’s six minutes he either gets to enjoy waiting in line for, or it’s six minutes of frantic running up several flights of stairs after realizing his boss is in the same line as him. 

On a morning like today...it’s the latter.  
  


Good news—werewolves are naturally fast, even when running on two legs. Bad news—Kent’s boss is a tight wad who insists on being the last person into the office at 8 AM. 

It’s moments like these, as Kent’s scrambling through the office, shouting ‘he’s coming’ to his coworkers that makes him reevaluate his chosen career path. As does the two minutes he spends organizing his work space and putting his duffle bag and the dry cleaning where they belong.   


Kent has approximately thirty seconds between the time the elevator door opens on their floor and the time his work for the day officially begins. He spends every second of that catching his breath as he tries to smooth the wrinkles out of his suit.

  
  
“Vasquez,” his boss shouts before he can see him.

  
  
Kent stands straighter as his boss turns the corner, holding out the iced mocha. It’s ripped from his hands unceremoniously.

  
  
“Good morning, Mr. Zimmermann,” Kent says neutrally.

  
  
Jack Zimmermann doesn’t tear his eyes away from his phone as he nods in Kent’s direction, taking a sip of his coffee. Jack frowns before turning his head toward Kent.

  
  
“This is double espresso?” 

“Yes, sir,” Kent says stiffly. 

Jack scrutinizes Kent closely, probably for an excuse to criticize— 

  
  
“Fix your tie, it’s crooked,” Jack says before continuing toward his desk.

  
  
Kent nods, refusing to exhale while Jack is within earshot.

  
  
“Call George’s assistant and see if we can move Wednesday’s meeting to tomorrow,” Jack says.

  
  
Kent tenses. _Fuck_ .

  
  
“Jack, seriously?” Kent says, formalities fading as his stress levels rise.

  
  
“My parents’ have decided to surprise me for my birthday or something,” he says, waving him off. “Can’t have them waiting on a meeting or I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Kent bites his lip—his brain already trying to anticipate the hoops he’ll have to jump through to appease Jack’s fucking parents. In five years of being Jack’s assistant he has never met the Zimmermanns. Beyond the occasional holiday or birthday shopping run, Kent doesn’t even hear about Jack’s parents.

  
  
Jack is fucking high maintenance. He can only imagine how bad his parents have to be for Jack to never talk to them. Great. 

Kent switches his emotions off for now, knowing he’s never going to get anything done if he’s busy worrying about Wednesday’s problems today. 

“Aye aye, captain,” Kent grumbles as he walks to his desk just outside of Jack’s office. 

He sighs after he closes the office door behind him. 

_It’s fine_ , he tells himself again as his work computer boots up. St. Martin’s being made partner. For the first time in years a fucking editor position is open. There’s a promotion and he fucking deserves to get it...and he will... 

His computer crashes while logging in. Kent groans, hitting his head on his keyboard.  
  
_Yep_ , he thinks, _this is gonna be a long fucking week_. 

  
_/.\\_ 

Jack spends his Monday like he does most weeks—in a flurry of calls between catching up on emails and strategizing for the next quarter. Mondays are typically the day he’ll go to trivia at his friend’s bar while his assistant finishes sifting through new queries. But today his winning streak will have to take a backseat to the meeting with the Board of Directors they had to push up because of his parents.  
  
He yawns as he looks up from his computer. Bleary eyed, he gets up and takes a lap around his office. The Board of Directors are expecting a full brief the next morning on their strategy to expand their mystery offerings throughout the next two years. He almost had everything prepared. _Almost_ being the operative word that included originally having an extra day to clean it up and check for mistakes.  
  


Outside of his office, he can hear Kent’s stomach growling. Jack rolls his eyes. Leave it to his loudmouth assistant to anticipate everything on their adapted schedule except his own dinner. 

Jack checks his watch, it’s just after 9 PM. He stretches his arms over his head. Well, it seems to be well past break time. He puts on his jacket and messenger bag. He saunters toward Kent’s desk, patting his shoulder as Kent pulls away from his screen.  
  
“It’s late,” Jack says. “Let’s grab a bite and reconvene after.” 

Kent nods, pushing his stupid glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

It takes Kent a minute or so to gather his things. Jack snatches his work laptop from him, muttering a half-heartedly lecture about getting a real messenger bag if Kent ever wants to be taken seriously. Kent, for his part, grumbles but allows Jack to take the dry cleaning from his hands and pull Kent along toward the elevator. 

Kent closes his eyes as he leans back against the elevator railing. Jack watches as the day seems to melt off Kent’s shoulders. A small grin tugs at his lips when Kent starts drifting to sleep as he stands.  
  
Even though he has strict standards, Jack knows Kent works harder than anyone to get his job done. Their dynamic might be strenuous at times, and Kent is a little uncouth for Jack’s taste. But he’d be an idiot not to see how much of his own success over the last few years is thanks to Kent’s diligence and perseverance. 

They take the train to Brooklyn. Kent inevitably dozes off, making use of Jack’s shoulder as a pillow. He shakes Kent awake as the train slows down before their stop, gently tugging him toward the exit as Kent gets his bearings. 

Jack picks up food from their chosen hole in the wall of that night while Kent goes ahead to get their work set up in Jack’s living room. They’d given up on working out of the dining room about two years ago; Jack citing how inefficient it was to move back and forth whenever they wanted to change seating positions while Kent argued that Jack just wanted an excuse to put on Game of Thrones whenever he got bored enough. 

Jack’s third floor walkup is spacious and a block away from some of the best restaurants he’s found in the city. When he first moved to the city from Montreal, his parents asked if he’d prefer a place closer to work. Being the history nerd he is, however, Jack refused as soon as he saw the exterior of this building. Between its window panes and wrought iron railing, he felt like he’d found a secret charm to make him feel more at home in New York.  
  
And then he got stuck with an assistant from Harlem who heckles him for being a gentrifier at least once a week. Jack bristles at the thought as he knocks on his own front door. Kent opens it promptly, ushering him.  
  


“So I think I caught all the typos and I cleared the excess data off the charts on slides thirteen and twenty,” Kent says as he takes the food from Jack, unpacking it on the coffee table. 

Jack nods. “I’ll take another look after we eat. We should be good after that.” 

Kent tiredly gives him two thumbs up. 

Fortunately but unfortunately, after some food and television, Jack’s able to spot a few bullet points he wants to tweak. Kent takes notes as Jack skims through the slides a few more times. 

Jack knows how the rest of the evening will go. They’ll take another break until Kent pauses whatever show they’re watching to adjust something because he’s had an epiphany. They’ll go back and forth on a few more changes until they get distracted and start discussing the new queries they’ve received. Kent will give Jack the shortlist...and then try to weasel another query or two in because they have ‘potential'.

  
  
Then they’ll bicker until Jack notices it’s past midnight or else they’ll get distracted by a documentary on Netflix until Kent realizes it’s 1 AM. Jack will argue that they still have work to do; Kent will all but push him to his bedroom. Kent will either be smart and take the guest room or be stubborn, staying up longer to respond to emails that came in way too late to answer. If he’s stubborn, Jack will inevitably wake up and take him to the guest room to get some real sleep.

  
  
He knows this because they’ve spent almost every week of the last four years performing these inane rituals. For as much as Kent drives him crazy with his constant commentary about everything and anything, Jack relies on the system to come through every time. He can’t get all this work done on his own for the same reason he can’t expect Kent to be at his beck and call from all the way across town. It’s the same reason he’s reluctant to have his parents dropping in without warning.

It’s the kind of ecosystem that could come crumbling down with too much interference. But they’re a team, for better or worse. 

He has to keep that intact for his career’s sake.  
  
_/.\\_ 

  
  


Kent kinda has an idiot for a boss. 

Okay to be fair—Kent’s highly capable and talented boss has absolutely no survival skills. Kent realized as much around six months into his tenure as Jack’s assistant. He didn’t think much of the office policy to wear scent blockers. Most old fashioned offices liked to be discreet, for mildly gross reasons, about what species their employees are...or if they’re mated or if who their pack/clan/coven is for that matter.  
  
He did, however, find it really fucking odd when his new boss (well, new at the time) seemed to not understand the concept of personal space with anyone...including (but especially) Kent. It took Kent a solid two weeks to realize that Jack was subconsciously trying to smell Kent underneath the blockers and another three weeks after that—plus some very subtle prodding around the entire fucking office—to figure out that Jack is a touch-starved wolf, hundreds of miles away from his pack and completely detached from anyone he’s close to.  
  
Because Jack Zimmermann is a special flavor of workaholic that is almost completely incompatible with the emotional and communal needs of being a werewolf. And as such, Kent quickly learned that Jack was stretched too thin in basically every aspect of his life. 

Jack’s ability to keep track of meetings, his ability to be polite to clients who pissed him off, and even his ability to focus on his job were all affected by how shittly he treated himself. So Kent, with tired resignation, set off to do the only thing he could think of to make sure his career wasn’t DOA.

He started taking care of his boss. 

Which is how Monday through Friday became solely dedicated to catering to Jack Zimmermann. Keeping him on schedule was only part of Kent’s job. He had to make sure Jack got outside every so often, and not just for his morning run. He had to scrub the scent blockers off as soon as they left the office because Jack needed more contact with scents he could understand and (eventually, after many frustrating nights) come to trust. He had to find casual opportunities, out of the office, for Jack to interact with friends and touch other wolves. 

So maybe Kent shoves Jack off to trivia every Monday night. So maybe he schedules lunches for Jack with his friends whenever they’re in town and says that friend called and asked to meet up. So maybe Kent wakes up at the ass crack of dawn every morning to nap on Jack’s couch with some of his family’s clothing on so more of the apartment smells like a home. So maybe he spends four to five nights a week falling asleep on his boss in some manner or another throughout a night where he doesn’t stop said boss from subconsciously brushing up against him or scent marking him.  
  
So what? It’s not like Kent spends extra money every week on dry cleaning so his professional clothing stays scentless as he drowns Jack’s place in scents of pack. It’s not like his heart melts whenever Jack laughs at one of his jokes. It’s not like four years of intensely close proximity have made Kent fall in love with the idiot. 

It’s just...a job that needs to be done. Kent can’t succeed unless Jack succeeds first. He isn’t completely gone for the guy who keeps him employed. He’s just fulfilling a means to an end. An arrangement at best.  
  


As soon as Jack finds himself a nice mate who can integrate him into a local pack, Kent will be useless to him. And then he they can both move on as Kent gets promoted within the company. 

Kent’s pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of something resting on his head as he scrolls through his phone. The twenty minutes he gets most mornings sitting at Jack’s kitchen table while drinking Jack’s shitty home brewed coffee is a much needed reprieve, but one that he’s secretly happy to cut short most days. Especially on a Wednesday like today when the stress of yesterday’s big meeting has dissipated. 

He holds back a grin as Jack slumps against him further. He lifts his cup in Jack’s direction, who hums pleasantly while taking it. Jack drinks the disgusting coffee greedily, which tracks in Kent’s humble opinion. 

Jack puts the mug down on the table, while all but hugging Kent in his still sleepy stupor. 

“George emailed me,” Jack says groggily. 

“That’s never good,” Kent says. 

Jack hums in agreement. “Looks like Marty’s quitting. They need to reshuffle some plans they had.”

Kent sighs. That’s not boding well for his ten year plan. Unless, of course...Jack was made partner... 

The upside of being Jack’s emotional support assistant—any day other than Monday results in a pretty good morning.

“I have to get to the office early for this damage control meeting,” Jack says. “Do you mind taking that town car you ordered to pick up my parents? Keep them distracted until lunch?” 

The downside of being Jack’s emotional support assistant—he’s extremely aware of how transitory his position in Jack’s life is. 

“Sure,” Kent says as pleasantly as possible. “Not a problem.” 

Which is fine. Jack needs a real mate. 

Jack squeezes Kent’s shoulder before detaching himself completely from him. “Thanks, Kenny.” 

If only Jack would hurry up and find one.  
  
_/.\\_ 

The drive to JFK from Jack’s apartment is decent as far as stuffy car rides to the airport go. Kent has enough time and Dramamine to catch up on emails and make scheduling changes before Jack gets to the office. He has enough time to figure out that half-assed itinerary that Jack made up last night over leftover Pho and day old pan dulces from Ma’s bakery. 

He’d pried enough details from Jack to work out that taking them to the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts and maybe to Harlem for pan dulces would be more than enough for a morning’s worth of activities. Then after lunch with Jack maybe, _maybe_ , Kent could slip away long enough to book them a hotel. Because apparently Jack doesn’t know how to ask his parents to stay somewhere else. Although why Jack would want to send his parents, his pack, away when they’re coming into town just to see him is beyond Kent. 

Kent could just go home early for the week, no skin off his back. 

When asked _what do your parents look like_ , Jack unhelpfully pointed to his own face and then, (after having popcorn thrown at his face) then he said _the driver will have a sign just stand next to him_. 

Hopefully the Zimmermanns were the polar opposite of their son and turned out to be very outgoing, easy to please people, Kent thinks as the driver parks the car. Jack swore he let his parents know Kent was picking them up. At least that makes his job a little less awkward. 

“We’re here Mr. Zimmermann,” the driver says to him. 

Kent blushes furiously. “Uh, sorry, dude. I know I made the reservation and the real Mr. Zimmermann saw us off but…” 

“My mistake,” the driver says. 

Kent clears his throat, subconsciously messing with a few locks of hair. “No worries.”

He and the driver wait in the designated pickup area for about ten minutes before someone approaches them. 

“Hi,” an older blonde woman with the same intense blue eyes as Jack says. “You must be Kenny.” 

She looks really familiar, but he can’t put his finger on it. 

“Hi, yes that’s me,” he says as he offers her a handshake. “Kent Vasquez nice to meet—”

He’s cut off by her hugging him. Okay...maybe she’s just a hugger? He, somewhat awkwardly, returns her embrace. 

“I’m so glad you could make it,” the woman says with a blinding smile. “We really appreciate it.” 

“It’s no trouble. I’m happy to be here,” he says in his warmest customer service voice. 

Maybe part of him is excited to see where Jack came from...but that’s not enough to fill his voice with unmistakable giddiness. 

She opens her mouth to say something when someone behind her shouts—   
  
“Allie you left me to fend for myself!” 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Bob, we both know you live for photo ops.” 

“Be that as it may—” the man, ‘Bob’ presumably, says. “I’m hurt by how easily you abandoned me.” 

The woman snorts. “Well in case you forgot, your son left us to fend for ourselves so I had to find—” she stops to pointedly wrap an arm around Kent, “ —Kent.” 

Kent feels like he’s missing something as he gets a good look at Jack’s dad. Who, admittedly, does look a lot like Jack. He just...seems very familiar. Especially his voice. Why? 

“Kenny!” the man booms as he grabs Kent’s hand to shake. “Pleasure to finally meet you. We knew Jack was keeping something from us but it seems he was keeping it tight to the glass.” 

_Tight to the glass?_ Kent thinks. _That’s a weird_ — 

It occurs to Kent that he heard that booming voice over the radio maybe a couple dozen times twenty years ago. Back when Izzy and a few of their cousins had gone through a hockey phase but the adults relegated them to listening to broadcasts with one of their boomboxes. 

Kent’s eyes widen. “Holy fuck, you’re—”

“Bad Bob Zimmermann?” Bob says with a playful smirk that reminds Kent he needs to have _words_ with this guy’s prankster son later. 

“Yeah which—” he blinks at Jack’s mom. 

Alicia fucking Miller, supermodel turned Hollywood darling. _She_ is Jack’s _mom_.

“Holy fuck, I-I love your movies so much,” Kent stammers. “Holy fucking—I’ve seen _Love Notes_ and _Meet Me in Memphis_ like a thousand times. And _You’ve Got Mail_? Masterpiece, just...holy fuck you’re so amazing.” 

Alicia giggles. Alicia Miller, the fucking queen of romantic comedies and Kent’s heart, is laughing at him...Alicia Miller hugged him excitedly...and Jack— 

“Oh, he's a deadman,” Kent says with no hesitation. 

Bob, fucking hall of fame hockey player Bob, claps Kent’s back jovially. “That boy really loves his surprises.” 

“Maybe he wanted us to figure out introductions on our own,” Alicia says. 

“Maybe he wanted to see me make a fool of myself,” Kent grumbles. 

Bob laughs. “I like you already, sport.” 

Kent blushes. “Right, sorry for being all...candid.” 

“Oh don’t you dare apologize,” Alicia says. “I’m glad Jack didn’t let you get worked up on our behalf.” 

_Guess that’s true_ , Kent thinks. “Well...you guys must’ve had a long flight so why don’t we get rolling? We can drop things off at Jack’s apartment—”

The Zimmermanns’ eyes light up, they briefly exchange glances. Kent tries to refrain from shivering at how intense and intimate it feels. He knows mated couples can sense each other's emotions, even hear their thoughts under certain conditions, but he’s never seen it in action before. His parents divorced shortly after the birth of his younger sister.

“Well, wouldn’t want to impose...” Alicia says. 

Kent frowns. Shit, Jack really needs to sort out his relationship with his parents. 

“Trust me,” he says. “You’re not imposing whatsoever.” 

_/.\\_

  
  


Kent takes them to Jack’s apartment. They mutter about decorations and the layout of the place as he gives them a tour. They ask a few questions about the building and apartment that Kent surprisingly knows the answers to. Which strikes him in the moment as odd, even if it is a testament to his prowess as an assistant to know Jack’s life in and out. But it’s nothing compared the confusing, sinking feeling he gets when Alicia cuts him right as he’s about to explain the guest room situation to them— 

“Sweetie, it’s fine. We were young once,” she says from the guest room. 

“You...were, yeah,” he says. 

“Of course! We appreciate you being modest on our account, kiddo, but we weren’t born yesterday,” Bob shouts from the kitchen. 

Fucking werewolf-sensitive hearing. What the fuck are they talking about?

  
Kent takes a deep breath. “Uh...come again?” 

Alicia pops her head out of the guest room. “Oh don’t worry about keeping up the ruse. I could smell Jack on you at the airport before I could even see you.” 

Kent sputters. “Okay…? But—” 

“And besides, Kent,” Bob says, clearly rifling through the fridge. “If your goal was to pretend you two don’t live together, you should’ve tried clearing out the smell of domestic bliss and sexual tension wafting through every inch of this place...and maybe bought less vegetables...You wouldn’t have anything stronger than seltzer around would you?” 

“Robert,” Alicia snaps. “Give the poor thing a chance before you start using your charisma to corrupt your son’s mate.” 

Kent...doesn’t know what’s going on. Or maybe...part of his brain (the very freaked out, fucked up part that he spent years in therapy learning to accept and swiftly ignore)does. The same part that can feel his throat getting tighter as the room got smaller, and hotter. 

He quietly tries to gasp for air as he scrambles for a logical explanation for how fucking weird these people, these strangers, have been since he met them. His brain supplies the image of a slightly younger Jack calling in sick because of depression, spending the entire day with his head in Kent’s lap. Kent would give anything to be there with him right now, not dealing with existence. 

Maybe this is what an anxiety attack feels like.   
  
Alicia comes up to Kent out of fucking no where and hugs him, _again_. This time he goes with it because he’s both too frazzled by this conversation to think and because, if he could think, he would personally slap himself for not accepting another hug from Alicia Miller. 

“Oh, sweetheart you have nothing to be scared of,” she says. “We’ve been so worried about him being here on his own. I’m sure you know about the problems he’s had with his mental health.” 

Kent’s brain flickers back to that time during his first six months at Falcon Publishing when he found Jack hyperventilating underneath his desk. Months later (after Jack had stopped growling every time he could smell Kent and would quietly beg for physical contact) he got a stammered out story about a human doctor who didn’t know how to treat him and how he almost lost everything and… 

Well, that was the day Kent showed Jack his semicolon tattoo. After that, things were just...easier between them. 

“Yeah, I know,” Kent says somberly. 

Alicia squeezes him. “There is so much love in these walls. I can’t thank you enough.” 

Something twists in Kent’s gut. He swallows thickly. Technically, he knows she’s correct. There is so much love in these walls. 

Too bad it isn’t mutual. 

_/.\\_ 

Reluctantly, Kent sticks to his plan. The museum goes off without a hitch. Not that he was expecting things to go poorly but...maybe he took them to a Black museum first to suss out whether or not he could take them to Harlem. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t occur to him that he’s effectively taking Jack’s parents—who think they’re _together_ —to meet his mother until they’re a block away from the bakery. He panics, giving the driver instructions about where to park temporarily while he tells the Zimmermanns to wait until the driver’s parked before they follow him.  
  
“It’s just...a busy time of day so I have to make sure one of my cousins can hold down the fort for my mom for a bit,” he says, impressed by his ability to pull that so quickly out of his ass. 

He sprints into the bakery. Izzy behind the counter stares at him like he’s grown a third head.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Izzy asks. 

“You’d think so,” Kent says as he claws past the line of people leading up to the counter. “But my boss’ parents think we’re... _involved_ or some shit like that.” 

Izzy laughs. Kent ignores her as he puts on a hairnet and budges past her to get to the kitchen.  
  
“Ma,” Kent shouts before he sees her. “Jack told me to go pick up his parents and didn’t tell them I’m his fucking assistant so now they think we’re together.”

“Gee, I wonder why, son who reeks of his boss at all hours of the day,” Mariana shouts from her back office. 

Kent groans. “Could you just—help me?” 

Mariana emerges from the back a few seconds later. 

She shakes her head as she tsks. “I’m not lying to these people.”

“You don’t have to lie to them. You just have to...not correct them…” Kent says.

Mariana crosses her arms, unimpressed with his pleadings. 

“Ma, please. I...I’ve worked too hard for this job. I can’t piss them off without jeopardizing my future which means I sure as fuck can’t tell them they’re wrong—” 

“If correcting their assumptions is enough to stunt your career mobility than I don’t think that’s the right work environment for you—” 

“I know but—” 

“No, no,” Mariana says firmly, grabbing his shoulders with both hands as she stares him squarely in the eyes. “Let me finish.” 

Kent snaps his mouth shut.  
  
“That being said...I know I didn’t raise a quitter and I’ve seen you work too hard for too long to let you throw that away now.” 

He sighs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I owe you so—” 

“I know, mijito,” she says. “When you make it big, I’ll hold you to that.” 

He hugs her quickly before leading her out of the kitchen. 

And then remembers— 

“Bythewaythatfuckfaceforgottomentionhe’scelebrityroyaltyyou’reabouttomeetAliciafuckingMillerkaythanksagain,” he says in one breath. 

Mariana gapes. “What—”

“No time for that now,” he says, walking faster. 

Izzy, thankfully, got with the program enough that she’s chatting up the Zimmermanns while still working the register. 

“Ma, the Zimmermanns. Alicia, Bob, this is my mother, Mariana,” Kent says nervously. 

Mariana clears her throat, plastering a smile on her face. “Wow, so you’re...wow, it’s truly an honor to meet you—” 

“Nonsense, the honor is all ours!” Bob says. 

Alicia nods. “Kent adores you, and we only hear the best about your shop from Jack.” 

“You do?” Mariana and Kent say at the same time. 

Bob laughs. “Of course! We see him maybe two weeks out of the year. Last few years he’s gotten so sour about missing work and then he starts complaining about how obnoxious we smell and how bad timbits taste. We assumed the water here finally got to him—”  
  
Alicia jabs him lightly. 

“—Well Alicia said he was growing up and I said ‘he’s gone and fallen in love with someone who can bake.’ And clearly, one of us was right.” he says. 

“Oh, Bob, honestly,” Alicia says. “At least give your son the chance to defend himself to his in-laws. They of all people must know how attached at the hip he is to that phone of his when he’s out of town.” 

Kent catches his mom giving him a subtle glare as she snorts. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Mariana says with a smirk. “Your son is a creative genius when it comes to reasons to get Kent’s attention.” 

Alicia’s eyebrows raise. “Really?” 

“One time Jack called in the middle of the night because he forgot a word in French,” Izzy says. “Kent had to talk to him in Spanish until he remembered it was aglet.” 

Bob laughs too hard for Kent’s taste. 

“Better than the time we spent a weekend texting about the shittiest movies,” Kent says bitterly. 

“No, you don’t get to complain about that,” Izzy shouts playfully. “You idiots raided my DVD collection and you still owe me that copy of Die Hard you broke!” 

Kent wonders—as Bob laughs himself into a coma and Mariana stares critically at him—if this is the moment he dies of embarrassment or if he’s just already dead and experiencing hell. 

He decides it must be the latter and shrugs as innocently as he can muster. 

“We had...creative differences over what order to watch shit,” he says as his cheeks redden brighter than a tomato. “...there might’ve been some, uh, keep away?”

Despite Kent’s honesty, his words are brushed over as Izzy continues to embarrass the shit out of him, much to Bob’s amusement. 

As soon as he hears Alicia asking about baby pictures, he realizes he is really, truly, madly...fucked. 

_/.\\_ 

Jack texts him that the meeting is going longer than planned and _could you please keep them busy until dinner?_ At which point Kent realizes he has to make reservations for dinner. Which he does, reluctantly telling the maitre d over the phone that it’s for four people. 

Bob and Alicia are happy to be dragged through kitschy parts of Manhattan while they wait for whatever the fuck is enabling Jack to prolong’s the weirdest day of Kent’s life. Hours of answering questions Kent _hates_ he knows the answers to and entertaining these, very nice (very famous), people who want so hard to see something that isn’t there. Just like he hates how charming, funny, and kind they are. Just like he hates how vividly his dumb brain can imagine Jack being there, fielding their questions and chirping Kent as his hand rests comfortingly on the back of Kent’s neck.  
  


Then finally, _finally_ , they get a text from Jack in time to head to the five-star minimalist, fusion restaurant Jack loves taking high profile clients for schmoozing purposes. They’re still seated before Jack arrives, but Kent knows he’ll be there soon. 

His brain starts stressing him out with increasingly more elaborate stories of what could be keeping him. Suffice it to say Jack Zimmermann is the least of his worries where his anxiety is concerned.  
  
Jack glides into the restaurant like a debonaire model fresh off the cover of Vogue. His hair is more tousled than disheveled and his rolled up sleeves look more like a deliberate fashion statement than a byproduct of hours spent in the same stuffy conference room.

Kent would chirp the shit out of him for looking so perfect if they didn’t have pressing matters to fix. He has the decency to let Jack greet his parents before Kent flashes the same stink eye that got him his holiday bonus three years ago.

Jack, smart fucker that he is, asks his parents to excuse them for a minute as he ushers Kent toward the restrooms.  
  
“What happened?” Jack asks. 

“Oh, gee, I don’t know Jack,” Kent says through clenched teeth. “I wonder what _tiny_ detail you might’ve neglected to mention.” 

Jack stares blankly for a second. 

“Did I—I thought you were kidding when you asked what they looked like?” he says. 

“I fucking wasn’t—and we’re circling back to that after we deal with literal garbage fire that we have to put out,” Kent says. 

Jack frowns. And really—if Kent weren’t so royally pissed off and freaked to fuck right now, he would be lamenting about fucking adorable Jack looks. 

“So...What are you talking about?” Jack says after a moment.  
  
“Did you tell your parents I was going to pick them up?” Kent says.

“Of course,” Jack says.  
  
Kent glares, crossing his arms. “Tell me exactly what you told them.”

Jack pulls out his phone. “Meeting at work, 911 can’t get out of it. Sorry. Kenny will pick you up instead.” 

Kent rubs his temple. “Did they know I’m you’re assistant.” 

“I think so…I’ve mentioned you before?”  
  
“Have you mentioned how _single_ you are recently?” 

“I—” Jack’s eyes widen. “Oh no.” 

“Oh yes,” Kent says frantically. “Your rich-ass, successful-ass parents think we’re fucking... _fucking_!”

The sheer terror that flashes through Jack’s eyes is almost enough to make up for the heart wrenching clusterfuck of a day Kent’s had so far. Almost. 

“Okay,” Jack says neutrally. “We can fix this.” 

“We?” Kent says incredulously. “I’m about to go drink some fancy-ass wine on my favorite celebrity’s dime—” 

“I thought you didn’t like hockey—”

Kent pinches the bridge of his nose. “I said ‘I’ve never _watched_ hockey before.’ Like physically seen a game...and that was two years ago. And I meant _your mom_.” 

Jack gapes. 

Kent takes a deep breath. They don’t have time for this.  
  
“Just, _please_ , tell them the truth, okay?” Kent says. 

_/.\\_ 

_Just, please, tell them the truth, okay?_ Rings in Jack’s head throughout the rest of dinner.  
  
The more he thinks about it, the more that moment bothers Jack. The way Kent has asked to wash his hands of this, pleading. The logical part of Jack’s brain reminded him that this is his subordinate who could easily have him fired for this bullshit. Worse, this is his assistant. His very competent assistant who keeps his job, and him, more together than Jack would ever care to admit outloud. He knows that if Kent were ever to leave, Jack would be fucked six ways to hell. Finding a replacement for him would be difficult bordering on impossible.  
  
Still, there was another part of Jack’s brain. A smaller part that thrumbed with discontent and grief that didn’t feel quite like his own.  
  
What could be so bad about being mated to him?  
  
Because Jack’s so lost in these thoughts, he barely registers what’s going on when his father says—  
  
“And just think! We came all the way down here to drag Jack home to meet a suitor.”  
  
Jack spits out a sip of champagne as Kent next him makes a strangled sound.  
  
“Uh...come again?” Kent says. And it’s at this point that Jack is thankful he has such a loyal, _intelligent_ assistant.  
  
Jack can’t protest to his parents, advisors in the most affluent pack in Montreal. At least...not in public where pictures and stares would linger.  
  
Alicia clears her throat, glaring at Bob. She flashes Jack an apologetic frown.  
  
“Truth be told, honey, you’ve been away from the pack for so long. We were...worried about you adjusting down here,” she says.  
  
“And most of the eligible wolves back home are mating like rabbits—”  
  
“What your father is trying to say,” Alicia says with a pained grin. “Is…we’ve been approached by a few packs. We narrowed down the options to a few suitors we thought you would find agreeable to court. And we were going to ask you to give them a chance.”  
  
“Before we found out you mated behind our back, of course,” Bob says with churlish grin.  
  
He bares his teeth in a way that reminds Jack of his NHL glory says. Back when his father put hockey and the thrill of crushing the competition over his pack. Back before hockey ripped Jack to shreds and spit him back out.  
  
It reminds him that his father might be pack, but that doesn’t make him family in Jack’s eyes.  
  
“While your incredibly misguided father is teetering on thin ice,” Alicia says with a deep breath. “I do have to ask, Jack...why didn’t you tell us before this? We wouldn’t have objected to you mating for love.” 

Kent nudges Jack under the table. He taps Jack’s thigh lightly. Out of instinct, Jack’s hand finds his, tangling them together.  
  
He knows, of course, what he’s supposed to do. Tell the truth. Just spit out ‘no we’re not together. You made assumptions and that wasn’t fair to Kent.’ It should be so easy.  
  
He doesn’t want to keep Kent in this situation...and yet he thinks about the possibilities laid out in front of him. He thinks about how his parents will have the decency to be embarrassed before they pivot back to their mission—shipping Jack off to whichever pack will offer the best perks. About how every other cousin in his age range is already settled down and have pups of their own. About the way his aunts and uncles and grandparents look at him with either disdain for his ‘entitled’ sense of individualism or pity for the family nutcase.  
  
Jack shivers internally. He left Montreal for a reason. He learned in a dingy house in Massachusetts that family and pack should be the people he chooses. Not the people who are benevolently (begrudgingly) stuck with him.  
  
He thinks about the way Kent’s hand squeezes his gently. It’s warm and pulsing in a way that makes Jack feel the word of reassurance gnawing inside of Kent. And...well. Maybe it’s his heart stumbling from years of pretending to be a better wolf than he really is.  
  
Or _maybe_ , the small part of his brain says. _Maybe this is as good as it gets. Maybe that isn’t a bad thing._ _  
  
_

But instead of ‘no, we’re not together’ he says, “it was an accident.”  
  
Bob and Alicia raise their eyebrows. Kent’s hand twitches in his.  
  
Alicia’s frown deepens. “Accidental matings don’t just happen, Jack. Mating doesn’t happen without appeasing both of your wolves. There’s steps involved. Scent marking, demonstrations of care, physical affection, pack acceptance…”  
  
She says ‘pack acceptance’ and Jack’s gut twists. He never thought of himself as a lone wolf but—   
  
“What he means is we didn’t mean to seal the bond so quickly,” Kent says. “My pack adores him. We were going to have a long engagement, have a big wedding and everything. But...one day we were in the park and talking about my dream wedding at the Plaza and it felt like something snapped into place.”  
  
Jack feels his stomach drop. Why would Kent—   
  
“Oh sweetheart, that’s such a shame,” Alicia says. “Your bonding should be the most important day of your life.” 

Kent shrugs, giving Alicia a soft smile that does weird things to Jack’s insides. He reaches over to smooth down a loc of Kent’s hair. His thumb lingers longer than it might need to.  
  
“It doesn’t matter to me either way,” Kent says, fooling even Jack. “I have Jack. That’s all I care about.” 

_/.\\_ 

Jack makes them all head back to his place after dinner, feigning a headache and exhaustion. The flicker in Kent’s eyes tells Jack he wants nothing more than to slink away. An unkind part of Jack’s brain supplies the words ‘whatever hole he slinks off to on weekends.’ The fair, logical, part of his brain reminds himself that Kent survived New York before Jack and would continue long after Jack’s gone back to Canada.  
  
His brain takes him down that path for too long of the car ride to Brooklyn. He ends up breathing slowly into Kent’s shoulder. It doesn’t take away the swirl of wanting and aching that’s clawing its way up Jack’s throat. Kent hums something familiar, a gentle hand strokes the back of his ear. It makes him wonder how Kent’s still mateless with the level of patience and compassion he has.  
  
He begs off staying up to chat with his parents. Bob and Alicia bid them both good night as Jack pulls Kent toward his bedroom, thankful that he paid extra for an apartment where every bedroom is soundproof. 

They don’t say anything as Jack gets ready for bed. He hates distracting himself from important conversations with necessary tasks, and vice versa. Kent, who kicks off his shoes and sits against on the bed, pulling his knees to his chest, seems to accept as much.  
  
Jack offers Kent a pair of pajama pants and spare t-shirt. Kent scowls before ripping the clothing from Jack’s hands. Honestly, he expected Kent to start yelling by now. Fuck knows Jack would’ve been way past yelling at this point.  
  
Kent flips on the TV. Jack had vehemently protested up until that week of all nighters they pulled two and a half years ago. Nowadays, they’d just spend quiet nights here sometimes. When they were too drained from the office or Kent had a knitting project to work on, they’d hang out in Jack’s room.   
  
Things are quiet for awhile. Jack reclines where he always does on the bed. Six inches away from Kent with his phone on his chest so there’s room for when he inevitably takes Kent’s feet to massage.  
  
Eventually, Kent puts his head on Jack’s shoulder.  
  
In hindsight, he doesn’t know when their boundaries got so blurry.  
  
  
“What are we going to do?” Kent whispers.  
  
Jack shrugs. Because he isn’t the idea person. Not when it comes to people. Something buzzes in the back of his mind. It’s...worry? No. Discomfort? No.  
  
_Fear_ , his instincts supply. He doesn’t _think_ he’s scared. But logic doesn’t stop him from curling around Kent. Nor does logic keep him from nuzzling Kent’s temple, murmuring that he’ll fix this. 

Better said than done. 

_/.\\_  
  
  
Jack stays up much later than necessary. Around 3 AM he pens an email to George’s assistant, citing a personal emergency that’s left him indisposed and needing Kent’s help. Kent rouses from the blue light of Jack’s work laptop.  
  
He nudges Jack with the top of his head.  
  
“Time for bed,” Kent mutters. 

“But—” 

Kent yawns loudly as he sits up. Jack itches to reach out and touch him. He’s had the world’s longest day. Because he can’t muster the energy to fight his instinct, he does. Jack caresses Kent’s jaw with his thumb. 

He watches Kent’s face relaxes as he melts into Jack’s side. It occurs to Jack that however exhausting dinner was to him only amounts to a portion of what Kent put up with today....or...yesterday. 

“You’re thinking so loud,” Kent grumbles into Jack’s arm.   
  
Jack huffs. It would be a laugh if he weren’t so utterly terrified.  
  
“That bad huh?” Jack asks. 

“Remember that deadline our first year?” Kent says, a little louder now that he’s regaining consciousness. “You pulled three all-nighters in a row and wouldn’t let me feed you anything that wasn’t a protein shake?” 

Jack snorts in spite of himself. “Yea, you threw water at my face and shoved pan dulces and a blanket at me.” 

“Yea,” Kent says with a wistful hum. “This...feels kinda like that.” 

“Because I’m losing it?” 

“Nah,” Kent says. “Because you’re trying too hard to be perfect.” 

The smell of Kent so close, so calm, makes his stomach do flips. Jack takes a deep breath. He doesn’t hate this. This weird crevice of the universe where they’re just...existing together. But outside of his bedroom door, it’s different.  
  
“What choice do we have?” 

“Realistically?” Kent says. “You could just tell them—”  
  
“Kenny—” he says with a groan.  
  
“Cool, pulling teeth option it is,” Kent says. “We could, uh, ‘break up?’” 

Jack bristles. He tenses in a way that throws him off guard. Kent must pick up on it too because suddenly Jack’s laptop is getting taken away from him. Kent pulls him gently to lie down. 

As his eyes adjust to the dark, he gets lost in the way Kent’s eyes track over every inch of Jack.  
  
“This isn’t exactly like that deadline,” Jack says. 

Kent’s lip twitches into a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.  
  
“Yea?” Kent says. 

“I’m not fragile,” Jack he says quietly, but firmly. “I can fix my own problems.”  
  
Because sometimes it infuriates him how much Kent is willing to bend and twist for him. Even if it’s his job, Jack doesn’t want it to be.   
  
“I never said that, Jack,” he says tiredly. 

That itch under Jack’s skin is back. He scoots closer, leaning their foreheads together.   
  
“I just...don’t see any options here, bud,” Kent says. “Your parents think we’re mated.” 

“So?” he says out loud. 

Kent shudders. “You’re joking, right? You’re my boss.” 

A whine escapes Jack’s lips. Kent nuzzles his neck. It calms Jack for about as long as it takes for Jack to realize that this is where the line was crossed. This is where they got lost from work confidants into something else, holding each other close when nothing else makes sense.   
  
And wasn’t that the crux of the issue? Kent made sense when nothing else did. His parents have meddled and dug their fingers into his life once again. But, maybe, they’re right. 

  
“Dammit, Jack,” Kent whispers. “Use your words.” 

Jack holds Kent’s face in between his hands. He would give anything to freeze this moment in a glass bottle. Save it for another day when the world was more turbulent. Things rarely made sense outside of his office. But Kent? Kent’s smile is the first thing he imagines when he wakes up. Kent’s voice is like smoothe liquor he can’t stop tasting on his lips and his expressions make the rest of the universe fall into place.  
  
It would be so easy to beg Kent to stay here, with him, forever. See where life takes them. Make memories that are bigger and better than yesterday.  
  
_That wouldn’t be fair to him_ , Jack thinks.  
  
“I...give me time?” he asks weakly. “I’ll...figure something out.” 

Kent swallows, nodding slowly. Because that’s what Kenny does. He trusts Jack even when Jack can’t find the power to trust in himself.  
  
They stay like that—silence as Kent’s breathing evens out and Jack’s mind thrums toward exhaustion. Their foreheads continuing to rest against each other.  
  
If Jack closes the gap between their lips, Kent doesn’t take issue with responding in kind. If Kent falls asleep hiding in the crook of Jack’s neck, breathing calmly but wreaking of sadness, well—

Jack pretends he doesn’t feel entirely at fault as he slips out of consciousness.  
  
_/.\\_   
  
The plan Jack comes up with, if he’s being honest, isn’t a plan. It’s more of a goal. Get through the long weekend with his parents happy. Use being mated to an American to get out of family functions for the next two to five years. Eventually make up a lie about how things didn’t work out and Jack can’t be around anyone for a while. And in the middle of that...make it all up to Kent. 

Said assistant-turned-accomplice in the biggest lie Jack’s ever told his parents, does a pretty good job of playing the part. They go to a bunch of places that are high end or just south of too touristy. Jack’s never been one for exploring the city so it’s a welcome surprise when Kent leads him around the city. They haven’t talked about the underlying issues of Jack’s plan since Thursday morning—in between Kent lecturing him that they couldn’t cancel on an author they’d fought so hard to sign and Kent pushing him out the door while scribbling a note to his parents that they’d come back to pick them up for lunch. Kent’s been nothing but laser-focused on getting them through every task and attraction involved in this wild weekend.  
  
If he holds onto Jack’s hand as he explains local legends and fond memories he has of the city, at least he doesn’t hold it against Jack every time he leans in to kiss his temple. It’s the performance of reassuring his parents that they’re happy together, Jack argues to himself.  
  
New York is beautiful after all, Jack might as well enjoy every shifting shade of blue, green, and brown it has to offer—both in the distance and right in front of him.  
  
Until they drop his parents off at JFK on Sunday afternoon, swearing up and down they’ll come visit soon, and they just...don’t separate. Jack feels the second Kent flinches, as if the spell between is supposed to break. Jack can’t bring himself to let go. The next thing he knows, he’s scent marking Kent like they’ve been doing it forever.  
  
A part of his brain supplies that yes, they have been doing this forever. That’s how Kent got stuck with him in the first place. He pushes that thought to the side. It’s a performance, he reminds himself. They’re playing parts that were thrusted upon them.  
  
Except Jack finds it necessary to take Kent to that lebanese place he adores down the street from the apartment (an apartment that he has to stop himself from mentally calling “their” apartment). Following which, he takes Kent home and puts a documentary on in his bedroom.  
  
When Kent makes excuses about it being late and them having work the next morning, Jack holds onto his hand a little tighter. He quietly asks if Kent would stay a little longer.  
  
Jack spends the rest of the night easing the itch underneath his skin, smoothing out every corner of Kent’s psychique and face with affirmations and affection. He doesn’t stop until he feels satisfied that Kent’s relaxed enough to sleep.  
  
That’s just how it is for a while. Work goes on as normal. At home, Kent falters and Jack’s there to give whatever he can.  
  
For awhile...it’s enough.  
  
_/.\\_  
  
_One week turns into four._  
  
George promotes Jack into Marty’s old job. She mentions offhandedly that the partner position Marty left vacant is still up for grabs. Jack chooses to focus on the job he has for now. Keep his head down so he doesn’t get lost in the stars. 

He offers Kent his old editor position.  
  
For some reason, he thinks this is the key to the awkward moments between stepping off the train in the mornings and leaving the office at night. He knows Kent wants the job, has fought heaven and earth to get him and Jack to where they are now.  
  
_It’s only fair_ , he thinks.  
  
Kent cries when he offers him the job. Sincerely happy cries, that is. It should be a beautiful moment as he accepts, and it mostly is.  
  
But the sinking feeling in Jack’s chest as Kent reaches to kiss him, and then back away at the last moment, reminds Jack that he has no idea what he’s doing.  
  
_Four weeks roll into four months._  
  
He’s gotten...better at handling the _situation_ that’s happening in his personal life. Maybe it’s more accurate to say that Jack and Kent have a passable handle at whatever’s going on in their personal life.  
  
Kent’s in a group chat with Jack and his parents (and another one with Jack and all of his cousins where Kent periodically embarrasses Jack with photos). Kent talks to Alicia almost as much as his own mother. He learns hockey for Bob’s sake. Kent also learns how to tell Bob to politely fuck off in a way that squeezes at Jack’s heart. Kent brings Jack to Harlem on weekends, citing Jack owing him for years of exile in Brooklyn.  
  
Jack learns how tell when he’s being chirped in Spanish and how to help Mariana in the bakery. He learns that Izzy and Mariana are very aware of the realities of his and Kent’s situation. He doesn’t learn what it means when Mariana twists her lips into a sad half-smile at Jack. (If she’s anything like Kent, it must mean Jack’s being dumb somehow.)  
  
_Four months turns into six._  
  
Jack doesn’t remember how he ever lived without Kent by his side, hands clasped tightly together as Kent makes sure they don’t get separated on Coney Island. He doesn’t remember what it’s like not to be tangled into the tapestry of Kent’s life.   
  
Kent is in the air he breathes and every note that sings to him. Kent’s in everything he does and says.  
  
Sometimes he stops in the middle of the day; he’ll stop just to text Kent about a terrible email or joke that’s been on his mind. Sometimes he nudges him awake at 6 AM because the sunrise looks gorgeous and it’s a good morning for a walk. Because he wants to share everything with him.  
  
He tries not to think about the moments when Kent looks like he’s been punched in the face by something Jack’s said. Because those never come in places that make sense. Those moments manifest is the quiet moments, when Jack’s asking how his day was or if he wants to get cider from that place Kent mentioned the other day.  
  
He’s never understood what’s wrong with asking Kent if he’s cold.  
  


All he can do is learn to take the good moments with the bad. When he has the itch to take care of Kent, he does. Because it’s the least he can do for the person keeping his life together.  
  
_Six months turns into eleven._  
  
Jack stares into Kent’s eyes as he fusses over Christmas ornaments for the tree he insisted on putting up. They’re crystal green today, he notes with a small thrill. Something about the way the light catches Kent’s eyes always seems to be reflective of what kind of day it is for Kent. His eyes are bright, and even though they’re squinting bitterly, his lopsided grin betrays him. Kent loves decorating for the holidays. He loves making their apartment something worth beholding.  
  
Kent looks perfect and so pleased with himself as he moves a hockey puck ornament somewhere visible but less obnoxious than where Izzy had left it a few hours earlier. Kent radiates happiness. It tugs at something deep within Jack.   
  
He lets the itch under his skin take control as he gets up from the couch. Jack crosses the living room, leaning over Kent who’s kneeling on the floor—still surrounded by piles of boxes Mariana got from storage. Jack kisses him on the forehead. Kent’s eyes flutter shut for a moment.  
  
They’re perfect here, Jack realizes.  
  
Kent clears his throat, asking quietly “What was that?”  
  
Because Jack doesn’t know, he shrugs.  
  
Kent nods, his eyes glazing over as if somewhere far away. Kent makes an excuse about needing to pick up a book down the street before running out the door.  
  
Jack spends a long time staring at the door Kent left wide open. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s terrified of what this all means. He’s terrified that Kent will come back and confront him for being such a mess just as much as he’s terrified Kent won’t. He just...has no idea what he’s doing. 

  
Or what the end of the tunnel looks like when all he wants is to be lost with Kent.  
  
_/.\\_   
  
_Maybe I should quit_ , Kent thinks one afternoon in December. Everything’s a disaster, might as well cut his losses.   
  
He’s living with the love of his life, has his dream job (and is fucking killing it), and he has no less than six of his childhood idols in a groupchat on his phone (fucking bless Alicia Zimmermann and her pension for collecting artist friends). By all accounts, his life should be perfect. Except for the fact that the love of his life doesn’t love him back.  
  
Kent’s gotten...worse at pretending he isn’t completely gone for Jack. Atrociously bad, actually. Like—to the point where Izzy doesn’t even chirp him for being an idiot anymore. She just stares at him like he’s a kicked puppy.  
  
Maybe he is. The other day Jack helped this little girl at the bakery grab a concha from one of the shelves. Kent thought he was going to die right then and there from being so stupidly in love with him. It isn’t stupid when Kent thinks about it for more than a second.  
  
Jack’s gotten a lot better at trying to be kind to strangers, and communicating. He’s become thoughtful in ways that feel less forced or polite. Like he knows what Kent needs right when he needs it.  
  
Which absolutely fucks Kent eight ways to Sunday. Because here’s the man of his dreams, being so fucking kind and dotting...but it’s all an act. Jack’s taken this whole ‘fake mates’ thing way too seriously.  
  
It’s all a lie Jack is too stubborn to give up. So even when Kent has everything he could possibly want, he’s never felt more miserable.  
  
He takes a deep breath before chugging away at the day old coffee he left on his desk. Chris is a pretty good assistant—and Kent doesn’t expect Chris to clean up after him—but every so often Kent’s reminded that he did way too much for Jack. Rather does way too much for Jack.  
  
He’s given Jack every piece of himself. It’s crazy how little fucks Kent gives in the moment to make Jack happy.  
  
  


A loud commotion erupts outside Kent’s (that was once Jack’s office) door. He pushes his glasses up his face as the door swings open. A woman with long brown hair and a well tailored pinstripe suit stares him down. Kent pales. He’s only seen her in pictures and over the phone—   
  
“Kenny V, you son of a bitch,” she says loudly before smirking.  
  
Kent swallows as he walks around his desk, greeting her. “Hi, Shits.” 

Shitty cackles before throwing herself onto him, hugging him tightly. With her three inch heels, she makes him feel small. Of course it isn’t hard for Jack’s overzealous lawyer best friend to scare the fuck out of Kent.   
  
He hugs her back anxiously. “So...what’s up? Didn’t Jack tell you he got a new office?” 

Shitty pushes him away slightly, glaring. She knows, he realizes. She’s here to kick his ass for enabling Jack’s bullshit for so long.  
  
“Well thanks for asking, babe,” she says with a fierce glint in her eye. “He told me about the new job and the fancy kickbacks. But what he didn’t tell me—”  
  
“I can explain—” Jack shouts as he runs into the room.  
  
“—Is that my best bro finally shacked up with his other best bro,” she says with a genuine smile.  
  
Kent opens his mouth to say something. He closes it almost immediately afterward because, honestly, he doesn’t know what the fuck to say.  
  
Shitty and Jack have been best friends since college. They’re as thick as thieves. Jack tells her everything. She has her own group chat with his parents. Why wouldn’t she be privy to their ruse?  
  
She looks over her shoulder at Jack. “What were you saying, Jackabelle?”   
  
Jack takes a beat, combing his hair back into place with a hand.  
  
“You ran out of my office before I could finish talking to you,” Jack says.  
  
“Sorry, baby cakes, but it’s not everyday that two of my favorite people tell me they finally got hitched,”  
  
“Finally?” Jack says as Kent says “ _Two_ of your favorite people?”  
  
She laughs, hugging Kent hard enough to squeeze the life out of him. 

  
“Duh. You really think I bought all the times you fucking covered for Jack over the years?” Shitty says. “Planning shit, remembering to call for my birthday, fucking buying me that cat tree last year?”  
  
Jack’s voice does something weird when he says cat tree. “Cat tree?”  
  
Kent bites his lip before sighing. “Knew it was only a matter of time before you caved and adopted your ex’s cat.”  
  
“Kent, my beautiful chaotic cupcake. You’re literally the only person who knew about the cat sitch.”  
  
He can hear Jack’s heart doing this weird stutter it’s been doing a lot lately.  
  
“And that’s why you’re one of my favorite people,” she says. “You didn’t have to do anything. But you did because that’s just who you are.”  
  
Shitty pats his shoulder before ushering him, and Jack, out the door.  
  
“To be fucking honest, I expected you two to get your shit together years ago. No pun intended,” she says.  
  
“Years?” Jack says, his voice straining again. Jack grumbles as Shitty leads them to the elevator.  
  
Kent reaches for his hand without thinking. Jack clenches it maybe a little too tightly.  
  
“Well duh-doy, Jackie. Like, I knew you were fucking gone for him after he got you to drink something that wasn’t fucking black coffee—”  
  
Kent groans as they get into the elevator.  
  
“ —But it took one phone after he survived his first year with you to know that...Kent’s so fucking in love and you two were it for each other.” 

Kent dares to glance in Jack’s direction. He’s staring like Kent’s grown a second head. Kent shoves his hands in his pockets. He hitches his shoulders up a little higher, hoping they’ll block the view of his, now extremely red cheeks.   
  
“So what are we doing exactly?” Kent asks.  
  
“Part one of my five part mating gift for you kooky kids,” she says.  
  


Jack’s heart rate picks up. Kent scrunches his face. Something isn’t adding up. 

“How do you have a gift for us exactly?” he asks Shitty. “Didn’t you like...just find out about us?” 

She shrugs. “For one thing, I’ve been planning this for the last two years or so. Ever since Jack went all grouchy-love-starved-feral at our reunion weekend. Spent half the weekend with one of your shirts wrapped around his neck.”  
  
Okay that’s— “ _What?_ ”   
  
“He also told me last week you dorks got hitched,” she says as she ushers them into a town car. 

Shits keeps talking as the driver peels away from the curve and heads to some unknown destination. Kent doesn’t pay attention to what she’s saying, however. 

He can’t take his eyes off Jack. 

_/.\\_ 

So Kent wouldn’t consider parts one through three of Shitty’s gift to be a gift. Because it’s really a surprise party for them and all of Jack’s friends. But it’s more of an ambush that involves meeting the other half of Jack’s friend group while also being inadvertently shamed in public to his best friend, Perry.  
  
Because of course it was Kent’s stupid fucking idea to invite Perry to a trivia night at Adam’s bar almost five and a half years ago. So really, it’s Kent’s fault Perry is giving him the world’s most judgemental, tight-lipped smile as they hand one of their kids to Justin.  
  
“Hey Per,” Kent says meekly. 

Perry smiles tightly.  
  
As they lean into hug Kent, they whisper, “What the fuck did you do?”  
  
“His parents thought we were mated. He didn’t say no!” 

“They visited like a year ago,” they said. 

  
“I know! We’ve been playing house ever since.”  
  
Perry squeezes him gently. “You’re a self-destructive idiot. But I think you knew that because you conveniently forgot to mention this.” 

Kent sighs as he pulls away from their embrace. “Yea, I do.” 

Perry rolls their eyes. “Come on, everyone wants to talk to you.”  
  
Meanwhile, he can overhear Perry’s husbands hounding Jack about basically the same thing. Only with clearly less context.  
  
“I knew there was something fishy about how you’ve smelled the last few months,” Adam says. “Can’t believe we didn’t catch on sooner.” 

  
“I know, we’re around each other all the time,” Jack says  
  
“No, man, it’s not like ‘I’m with my mate 24/7’ smell,” Justin says. “It’s ‘I’m stupidly happy because my mate makes me happy,’ smell.”  
  
Kent chooses to ignore the horrible wrenching feeling in his gut as Jack is forced to lie some more. Instead, he tries to focus on meeting the fellow trans people in Jack’s life.  
  
_/.\\_  
  


When Shitty stormed into Jack’s office this morning, apropos of nothing, the last thing he expected was to spend the day being dragged around the city while being smacked in the face with cold hard facts.  
  
Apparently Kent is in love with him...loves him back. Has loved him for longer than Jack could conceptualize the idea of liking Kent as a person.  
  
It’s not just how long he’s had feelings for Jack that’s startling—it’s what he’s done for Jack in between all of the bullshit that’s been thrown Kent’s way. It’s the things he’s done for Jack’s friends—the favors, the support, the gifts and the legitimate friendship he’s given them.   
  
Apparently, Kent has poured love into every corner of Jack’s life. 

“How do you not know about the time he sent flowers and casserole after Bits broke his arm?” Lardo asks him later, when it’s just them sitting in a booth at Holster’s bar.  
  
“He never told me,” Jack says. 

They nod. “Sounds like Kent.” 

Jack groans, burying his head in his heads.  
  
“Question is,” Lardo says, “Why are you so fucking surprised? You mated the kindest fucking person in the universe. Of course he does shit like this all the time.” 

Jack takes a deep breath. “I...it was an accident.”  
  
“What was an accident?” they ask. 

“Everything,” he says. 

Lardo nods, taking a sip of their beer. The thing about Lardo is, they get it. They know emotions and words get so jumbled for Jack. They respect that he still gets lost in what he wants to do most of the time. 

Which makes it all the easier to spill his guts. “My parents thought we were together and it was so much. He...lied to them because I was too scared to correct them.”  
  
Lardo pets his head. “You sure he was lying to them and not himself?” 

Jack tilts back enough to glare at them.  
  
“I’m just saying...are you sure he was lying? And not pretending that he was going along with shit for your sake?” 

Jack shrugs. “Maman said mating by accident is impossible. I didn’t know what else to say. He stepped in with some story—” 

“About his heart snapping into place?” 

He nods. 

“Oh you idiots.” Lardo sighs. “Jack, do you know what it takes for a mating bond to seal?” 

“Maman said something about physical affection—” 

“Which you do all the time—”

  
“—and scent marking—” 

Lardo snorts. “You brought his pillowcase on our last vacation.” 

“—demonstrations of care,” he says. 

“Like the jacket you put on him or how he keeps looking over here like he wants to fucking save you from socializing?” 

Jack groans. “She mentioned pack acceptance. Which is when he got weird and went along with the lie. But how could we be mates at that point? He’d never met my family.” 

Lardo hums for a bit. Their acrylic nails scratch soothingly against his scalp. Jack wishes he weren’t wasting their time with this problem he created for himself. 

“So he’s smart but still a little stupid,” Lardo says finally. 

Jack sighs. “Explain.” 

“Well clearly he understood that pack acceptance doesn’t have to mean the pack you were born into,” they say. 

Jack tenses.He doesn’t like thinking about the dissonance between him and his family. Even when he was a kid, his pack expected things bigger than he could offer. He nearly died trying to make them proud. He’s spent so much of the last decade learning to forgive them while holding them at arms’ length.

Things have been easier with Kenny there to be an intermediary.   
  
“So he realizes telling them the truth would mean you having to admit that we’re your pack now,” they say. “Have been for a decade. He saw you, probably drowning in anxiety, and decides to save you. So he argues that the pack you have acceptance from his family.” 

There it is again. Proof that Kent will do anything and everything for Jack’s benefit. 

Kent’s just so “...amazing,” he says. 

“But super dumb,” Lardo argues. 

“Why?” 

Lardo takes another sip of beer. “Did you know he’s in love with you?” 

“No-t...previously,” he says. 

“Does he know that you’re in love with him?”

Jack lifts his head off the table. “I think he does now.” 

Lardo tsks. “And that’s why you’re both idiots. Look...all of that other shit is important for courting but the most important thing is ‘mutual intent.’ You knew people assumed you were together but did you ever bother to ask if he wanted to be with you?” 

“But—” 

  
  
They don’t let him argue. “Just go talk to him.”   
  


It shouldn’t be that simple but...but he’s spent the last year listening to his instincts screaming to fix this already. When it’s all felt like a bandaid solution. 

Just talking feels unsatisfactory for how much Jack wants to give Kent. However, it’s the only thing he hasn’t tried yet. 

“Okay,” he says as he stands. “Thanks.” 

_/.\\_   
  


“Jack! I’m glad you finally let us meet your mate,” Bitty says when Jack approaches a group of his friends, plus Kent, at another one of the tables. “He’s such a delight.” 

Kent, who’s chatting it up with Shitty’s boyfriend, Carter, looks up at Jack. His expression is reserved as Jack’s nose is filled with the scent of Kent’s anxiety. They really need to talk. 

Jack puts a hand on the back of Kent’s neck, hoping the contact is enough to calm them both down. 

“Could you excuse us for a moment?” Jack asks the group. 

“Chyeah man, go for it,” Justin says. “You can take the office in the back if you need a breather—”

“Just disinfect before you leave,” Holster says as Kent gets up to leave. 

Perry jabs Holster in the ribs. He hears Kent making a joke before Jack pulls him away. 

He’s thankful that he hasn’t been around everyone in a while. They haven’t had time to learn the nuances of Kent’s smell...or what Jack smells like when he’s anxious around Kent.

The last thing he needs right now is his best friends asking questions he doesn’t have answers to yet. 

“Jack, are you okay?” Kent says when they’re finally in the office. 

“I should be asking you that,” he says without thinking. 

Kent shrugs. His shoulders are rigid but his gaze is firmly fixed on the floor. Kent crosses his arms, making him look smaller. 

He feels threatened.

“What does it matter?” Kent says finally. 

“It matters to me,” he says. “If you’re not okay and I could do something to fix that...I want to.” 

Something twists and tightens in Jack’s chest. It’s painful enough to make him cry. He blinks at Kent who looks on the verge of tears. He realizes this is their bond that he’s feeling. 

A calmness washes over him almost as quickly as it’s replaced with a sinking dread. They can feel each others emotions. They’re bonded. He feels their bond settle more, like a fallen pebble shifting comfortably into a resting position. 

It feels like something has secured itself in his chest, even as he feels something (Kent panicking, he realizes) squeezing his insides. It occurs to Jack that he doesn’t know what that itch means anymore. 

Kent’s hand twitches. He reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of Jack’s face. His hand slides down Jack’s side, resting comfortably on his shoulder. For a moment, the itch calms down. 

Is it his instinct to help Kent or is it Kent’s desperation to fix things for him? Nothing makes sense, the room is spinning as Kent tells him to take a deep breath. 

“Why did you say it?” Jack says when he catches his breath. 

Kent doesn’t look him in the eyes. “Say what?” 

Jack swallows.“That thing you said to Maman about us bonding. You said we were in the park talking about weddings.” 

Kent rips his hand away from Jack’s arm. 

“Why did you lie?” Jack says as quietly as possible. “You didn’t have to. You could’ve—”

“I wasn’t lying,” Kent says. 

Silence falls over them. Jack waits for Kent to continue. 

Kent eventually does. “We were in the park. You said the women’s fiction author I wanted to sign was just romance. I told you you were dead wrong. You asked what about getting married was empowering, remember?” 

He vaguely remembers a sunny afternoon when they were in between meetings but itching to be outside. They were eating ice cream. Kent’s eyes were bright blue as he sang some song about falling in love with the wind. Jack wiped some ice cream off Kent’s cheek as he spoke. 

In the present, Kent bites his lip as he trembles. Jack would do anything to soothe the worry from his face right now. But Kent needs to talk—deserves to, really. 

“And I told you about the themes of personal growth and finding joy despite a capitalist existence,” Kent says quietly. “Then you fucking kissed my cheek to get some ice cream off or something. You said ‘so you like weddings?’ And I said yea and you asked what was my dream wedding.” 

Kent’s lip trembles. He clenches his fists until his knuckles are white. 

“So I looked you right in the eye and told you what I wanted out of a wedding...our wedding. I thought about how fucking beautiful it would be and how amazing our life together could be and— 

“And I felt something pang in my chest...Something like hope? And longing,” Kent says. “I thought it was just me. And then your mom said the thing about mating requirements and I didn’t want either of us to get in trouble for courting by accident.” 

Kent licks his lips. “And then I kept thinking about it. How fucking weird it is that I know when you’re anxious? Or hungry or scared. I know how to fix that kink in your neck and you sure as fuck know when I’m sad faster than I do—”

“Ken—”

“Lemme finish,” he says. “I thought I was being crazy, y’know? Maybe like a hysterical mating bond or something...But then you get all soft on me. You fucking kiss me when other people aren’t around—which is a real mind fuck. And...I don’t know, I was getting used to the idea of spending the rest of my life being your beard.”

Jack growls. Kent, thankfully, ignores him. 

“But Shitty...really confused me,” he says, blinking rapidly. “Like...fuck me for wallowing in self-pity enough to just...slot harder into your life without even thinking about how much it would kill. But...what the fuck Jack? Why does she think you’re into me?” 

Jack reaches out for Kent, pulling him into his arms. “Because I am.” 

Kent laughs. It isn’t a genuine, Kent chuckle. But more of a weak, wet snicker. 

“I’m serious, Kenny,” Jack insists. “I don’t _tolerate_ you—”

“Gee, thanks—”

“I’m _in love_ with you,” Jack says firmly. 

Kent shuts up, staring wide-eyed at him. 

“I love you, Kenny,” he says again. “I don’t know when it happened but...it’s been awhile. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner...and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I figured it out…

“I’m sorry I let you think we were doing this for my parents’ sake. The truth is I’m selfish. I didn’t know how to just talk about it. So I let this happen—and then I let it continue.” 

Kent’s lip clenches. Jack feels a wet patch on his chest and hugs Kent tighter. 

“Jack...I...don’t fuck with me okay?” he whispers. 

“I’m not,” he says, trying desperately to fill his voice with as much sincerity as possible. “I love you.”

Kent nods. But Jack can tell, now that he knows it’s their bond, that Kent is scared. His head is swirling with fear of abandonment and trepidation for something. 

Jack sighs. Kent’s already been hurt so much by all of this. Jack can’t fuck up again.

“You have every right not to believe me,” Jack says. “But...can I prove it to you?” 

Kent stares at him for a moment, assessing him closely. His eyes are so dark and intense under the ugly florescent lights of Holster’s office. Jack pushes as much love and gentleness as he can through the bond. 

For a moment, the air between them is still. Almost six years of partnership and countless days spent hopelessly in love with Kent has led them here. 

And for as much as Jack regrets how long it took to get here—he doesn’t regret spending it with Kent. 

“Okay,” Kent says quietly. “Prove it to me.” 

  
  
_/.\\_   
  
  


Somehow, they get through the party with no (further) incident. They tentatively talk shit out as they lay in Jack’s bed that night. Kent isn’t confident that this will end with him unscathed emotionally but...he’s hopeful. 

Maybe for once, the pain will turn into something better. 

_One week turns into three. The holidays come and go._

Jack gets him a cat for Christmas. He’s fucking beautiful with one eye and no sense of self-preservation. Kent names him Hamilton; together they teach him how to take walks. Jack spends a week kissing Kent every time he thinks of that damn cat. 

_Three weeks turn into eight._

Jack learns every band that Kent loves and proceeds to make him a mixtape like a fucking dork. Kent spends the rest of the afternoon listening to this (stupidly perfect) mixtape as Jack reads the poetry book Kent found at the used book shop the other day. They lazily kiss until Kent has to take a shower and Jack takes a run to cool down. 

When Kent gets out of the shower, he finds Jack making dinner. He thinks they could be okay, and says as much out loud. Jack looks at him like he built the stars. 

It does feel like he hoped it would. 

_Eight weeks turn into twelve._

It’s weird at first, the process of Jack coaxing Kent into opening up. There are a lot of awkward moments where Jack has to remind Kent it’s okay to enjoy or want something. Sometimes they talk shit out until they’re exhausted. Sometimes they fight because they spent so long building up these assumptions about each other that their walls don’t come down easily. Sometimes words fail...so they sit in their sorrow until they can try again. 

It’s frustrating to Kent somedays. Because he feels so guilty for not relaxing enough. This is what he wanted—Jack declaring his undying love for him...and then happily ever after.

  
  
Why couldn’t it be that easy? 

But Jack keeps trying, keeps getting back up even when they’re both down for the count. Because Jack keeps fighting for them, it makes Kent want to as well. 

_Twelve weeks turns into five months._

Kent wakes up one morning to Jack kissing him all over. Kent swallows him whole for the first, but not last, time. Jack returns the favor in kind. 

When Jack’s done turning Kent inside out, he holds Kent close. He kisses him firmly as they both let the scent of each other wash over them. 

“I love you,” Jack says into his temple. He kisses Kent again. 

Kent turns his head slightly to catch Jack’s lips. Their lips are smoldering against each other. 

“I know,” Kent says easily. “I love you too.” 

Jack chuckles before nuzzling Kent’s neck. He nips it, sending shivers down Kent’s spine. 

“Are you happy?” Jack murmurs tenderly.

  
  
Kent grins, kissing him in reply. 

“I am. I have you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title: lyrics from _Finally // beautiful stranger_ by Halsey and _Shark Smile_ by Big Thief
> 
> Thank you Cozy for being a super rad beta! And tysm again to Anna, Faia, and Rare for their FTH bid.


End file.
